YOUR WRITING
For Toni Bentley​

Your writing is
an extension
of your dancing,
full of beauty,
strength, and
boldness of spirit.
Your writing is
an organ that
enchants us
with its rich
and broadminded
tones.
Your writing
liberates
us all.

7/16/15

CHEROKEE NATIONAL CAPITOL

Both East and West I've visited them, my
Cherokee people. Thirty
Years ago I found their
Capitol in Tahlequah
Oklahoma. A nice building,
But inside so
Empty. so
Full of echoes.
The sign in front
Told how it had been
A finishing school for
Young Cherokee women.
(Unlike their neighbors,
they could read.)
Not much furniture,
A reception desk and
A grand
Piano.
The voices of the young
Women are silent now.
The grand piano
Now plays
Amazing Grace.

8/1/15

JULIE

I.
I've visited every part of your body,
but you're still a foreign land.

II.
You visited us in our hotel room,
just before nine-eleven,
and though I had no inkling
of that, something inside me knew
that I would not see you again.
So I wished it were someone else
getting slowly out of the car.
Our eyes drank each other up,
and then we went to breakfast.
You and Fred were on your way
up north, to see about a dog.
Sandy and Fred,
so understanding,
left the hotel room first.
As I held you in my arms
to say that last goodbye,
I said, "Please, take good care
of yourself." You said,
"I'll try."
But I knew
that you wouldn't.

III.
It happened on Good Friday
of the following year.
A winding road in Mexico,
a road I've known for years.
Sandy, who loved you too,
was the one who got the call.
Only your husband
and your dog
survived.
We each raised a glass
of brandy, and I
could find no tears,
though they
are coming now.

IV.
In a dream you came
a few months later,
I guess to show me the way.
Springing from the board,
you dived in deeply,
and I followed you
to a sunny beach.
There were others
that we knew,
but I could not
stay there yet.
I knew that I
had found the Summerland,
and so had you.

7/10/15

I REPRESENT THE BOND OF ALL HUMANITY

I represent the bond of all humanity,
A tale told richly in the ancient DNA,
At least one-half a hunter-gatherer,
A quarter sod-buster and one-eighth herder.

It was farming that made civilization possible,
And cattle-herding that made it what it is--
Nothing to be proud of,
And rather problematic.

And there is still the trace of those who left
Africa by the northeast gate,
Filling all Asia and Europe
And Pacific islands, too.

The history of Europe is in my blood,
From long before the biblical flood,
When a knife was a sharpened stone
And the ceiling was the roof of the cave.

We told stories huddled beside the fire
While women signed the first art,
Pressing delicate hands to the cave wall
But all of this was not to last.

I represent the common bond,
An ancient blend of all humanity,
Not gently swizzled by peace,
But shaken hard by war,
And victims
Of our own
Intransigent ignorance.

6/26/15

XXI - THE WORLD

She is Mother
of us all.

6/11/15

XIX - THE SUN

He is the Aton
of Adonai,
giver of life,
marker of
the seasons,
around whom
our lives
revolve.

6/11/15

I BROUGHT YOU A BOTTLE OF COLD DUCK
for Patricia

I brought you a bottle of cold duck
(it was all I could afford)
to celebrate your writerly success.
You said I was the only
one in the family who had
supported your writing.
Now, of course,
they all do.
We drank the duck,
and I believed in you.

Forty years ago,
standing by an atrocious
breakfast bar in a
flat behind the Little Bell
market in Noe Valley,
I handed you a scrap
of paper with a poem
about our growing-up
years, and the silences
between words.
You liked it, and said,
"that's just the way it was.
You should write
more poetry."
I said, "it isn't my thing."
I lied, of course,
wanting it to be
your thing.
And it was.

I am not a competitor
(the word comes out
in Spanish, I'm no longer
sure how to spell it
in English) and though
our names are the same,
I'd rather not
be compared to you.
But now, dear sister,
It's my thing, too.

7/20/15

XVII - THE STAR

Naked splendor.

6/10/15

MY FATHER

My father spent much
of his life on his knees,
not praying,
but working.
Or, if his work
was his prayer,
it was a prayer
that he answered
himself, supporting
a wife and
eight children.
He supported us,
not on a farm,
as his parents had done,
but in the city.
If work was
his prayer,
it was a
mighty one.
Like John Henry,
he deserved a song,
and at least
one poem.

7/17/15

XV - THE DEVIL

This creator of confusion
is mostly illusion.

6/10/15

XIII - THE CARD WITH NO NAME

Too feared
to speak of.

6/10/15

XI - JUSTICE

The sword is for
your neck;
the scales are for
your soul.

6/10/15

IX - THE HERMIT

The light that
he follows,
he also
shares.

6/10/15

COTTING ON THE BOARDS

Sally with your long, dark hair,
Sally with your eyes so bright,
Sally with your lovely smile,
We'll be cotting on the boards tonight.

And I may kiss you on the cheek,
More I cannot do,
For I know you love a woman,
And I know she loves you, too.

[Sally with your long, dark hair...]

And we shall share our lovely dreams,
But we'll do nothing more
Than give us each a fond embrace,
Though I've loved you from afar.

[Sally with your long, dark hair...]

Oh Stephen, my sweet Stephen,
You surely must do more.
Lucy and I shall have a son,
A boy with curly hair,
And if you love me, you'll help us there,
Yes if you love me, you'll help us there.

[Sally with your long, dark hair...]

7/10/15

Copyright © 2016 by Donald C. Traxler

VII - THE CHARIOT

The Chariot,
drawn by two
sphinxes.
keeps its
awful
secret.

6/10/15

V - THE POPESS

She sits, dressed in
Franciscan brown,
her triple crown
only hints
at her power.
She is the antidote
for the ills
of the hour.

6/10/15

III - THE EMPRESS

With scepter and
a crown
of stars, she's
the lovely
epitome of
womanly
power.

6/10/15

0 - THE FOOL

The Fool is the
Carnival King,
a motley clown
who attacks
the whole
procession
with impunity.

6/11/15